


The Introduction

by DPPatricks



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen, Some Humor, the beginning of the relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 17:01:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPPatricks/pseuds/DPPatricks
Summary: Academy Days Thanksgiving, Part III





	The Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third installment of what began as a Twenty Minute Challenge on the SH911 lj site in November, 2015

Busiest this place has ever been on Thanksgiving, I realize, as the dinner crowd begins to thin. ‘Course, it's the only food joint open for miles around. Not much choice if you don't wanna cook for yourself on T-day. Come to Huggy Bear's for eats, drinks, and good conversation with good friends.

Marsha brings me another check. I add up the figures, make sure she got the total right. She's not the brightest bulb on the tree, but she works hard and the customers love her. I give her her tip, and put the rest in the cash register. Shit, it's almost full again. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one at the bar is paying too much attention, I grab most of the twenties out, pull open the drawer underneath and stuff them in a bank pouch. It's getting full, too. Been a good day! Closing the drawer and the register, I turn around to my patrons.

The front door opens and I'm happily surprised. I hadn't expected to see Starsky until much later. He always spends Thanksgiving at his Aunt Rosie's. Brings me leftovers afterward, although he knows I cook four turkeys with all the trimmings. Still, it's good to sit with him, after closing, and eat some more. He works it off at the academy, and I can't ever seem to gain any weight. Oh well...

The tall, light-haired absolutely gorgeous figure behind Starsky's shoulder pops my eyes open wide. Whoa! Who's the Viking?

Starsky, the Nordic god trailing a half-step behind him, makes his way through the crowd. Both of ‘em are keepin' their eyes peeled, checkin' out everybody and everything. Yep, gotta be one of Starsky's classmates.

I lean across the bar and shake my best friend's hand. "How ya doin', Starsky? Didn't think I'd be seein' ya ‘till later." I glance pointedly at his empty arms. "Where're my leftovers?"

He laughs. "We ate Aunt Rosie out of house and home this time, I'm afraid." He spreads his hands. "Nothing to bring."

"I'll survive," I say, resignedly. "I guess."

Starsky moves to the side and the guy who looks like he stepped off the first page of some ‘Visit Sweden!' brochure takes his place.

"This Minnesota transplant's gonna be my partner someday, Hug," Starsky says with certainty. "Want you to meet Ken Hutchinson." He turns to the slightly taller man. "Hutch? This is Huggy Bear."

I take my best friend's friend's extended hand. It's huge and firm, but he's not tryin' to crush my fingers. It's just a good grip, one that says things I like to hear.

It's a better hand shake than the one I got from that Colby dude. Didn't much care for him, although Starsky seemed to think he was okay. Glad he hasn't brought him around since that first time though. This Hutchinson character looks like a much better partner for Starsky, to my way o' thinkin'. I'll reserve judgment, I always do. But this one could be a keeper. Sure hope so. My buddy needs somebody watchin' his back. He always did take too many chances. Soon as he's a cop, it'll probably get worse.

"Your usual spot's just emptied out, Starsky." I gesture to the back corner of the room. "I'll bring the beers."

My dark, curly haired friend takes the blond's elbow, as if the guy could get lost in the throng, and guides him to the vacant booth. Hutchinson seems comfortable with the contact. That's good, I think, ‘cause my pal's a toucher. Colby was a slippery fish but this man's clearly different. Starsky lets go of the elbow and slides onto the seat on the left side of the table. Hutchinson folds his length onto the right bench.

I grab a tray, two beers out of the cooler and two glasses, and make my way through the packed bodies. It takes me longer than I figured on ‘cause I have to stop a few times to greet people and once, to straighten out a check. When I set the brews down on the table, I hear Starsky tellin' Hutchinson a little of our history.

"... my best friend since I moved out here when I was twelve. We've been through so much shit, I couldn't even begin to tell it all." He glances up at me and grins.

Hutchinson looks at me, too, and I feel like a bug under a microscope. For about a second. Then his expression softens and his face lights up. Wow, if I was a lady, I'd be all over him. That's a killer smile!

"Starsky won't tell me your real name," he says, questioningly.

"Neither will I," I reply with as much ‘haughty' as I can muster.

"Good enough," Hutchinson replies, obviously content.

I grab a chair from a nearby table and sit at the end of the booth. I shoot the shit with my best friend and his new pal while they slowly drink their beer. They're both gonna be good cops, I decide. It's just what Starsky's needed since he got back from 'Nam, a purpose. A way to put his big heart out there and help people.

And Minnesota seems to have been floundering himself, from what he says. Hope, now that they've found each other, they'll make the kinda team I'm seein' in my mind. Like Butch and Sundance, only on the right side o' the law. An' without the bloody ending.

"This is cool, m' friends," I say, realizing my barmaid's been shooting dirty looks toward my back for about ten minutes, "but I gotta get to work. Holler when these are empty," I say, gesturing toward the two bottles.

"Thanks, Hug," Starsky says.

For the next half hour I'm too busy at the bar to think any more about the soon-to-be-cops, except to give Starsky fresh beers when he comes over for them.

But then a move Starsky makes catches my attention. If Curly was a bird dog, he'd be on point. He just sat up straighter than he's ever done in that booth. I can't hear a thing from where I am, but I can tell he's listenin' to whatever's bein' said by the two men behind him. An' look at that! M' man only glanced at Hutchinson for a split second and Blondie's moved around, hunched over, to Starsky's side. They're sittin' there like Siamese twins joined at hip and shoulder, listenin' to whatever's being said in back of ‘em. I still can't hear a word. Damn place's too noisy.

I pick up a busboy tub and move out into the room, clearin' empty glasses, bottles and cups off the tables. I'm tryin' to be casual but it ain't easy. The vibes my buddy and his friend are givin' off are too intense.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Hutchinson stand up and glide, would that be the word? He almost flowed, like a yellow-haired panther, to the far side of the next booth. Starsky squirts out, turns and leans on the high division.

I pick up the bin and move to their empty space. I put the tub down quietly and slide onto the right hand bench to watch. And listen.

Starsky leans against the back of the seat. His right arm rests behind the balding head of one of the guys I've been servin' boilermakers to all night. My friend's feet are crossed at the ankles. He appears to be at ease, but he's effectively blocking Baldy from being able to leave.

On the other side, Hutchinson leans casually against the bench back, his left leg bent at the knee. The toe of his left hiking boot rests on the floor. To anyone else in the room, it might look like a casual conversation takin' place between four friends. 

"So, whaddaya think we should do with ‘em, Hutch?" I hear Starsky ask.

"Don' know, Starsk." Hutchinson glances around the room. "Out the back way?"

"Sounds good," Starsky says, with a head gesture. "The kitchen help won't pay any attention."

"The alley'll be deserted this time o' night." Hutchinson remarks, innocently.

"An' the Dumpster's big enough," Starsky adds.

"When's the next garbage pick up? I forget." I notice Minnesota emphasized the word, ‘garbage,' when he flicked a look at Bald Head.

"Monday, I think," Starsky answers.

"Perfect. Three whole days for them to think about how unwise they were gonna be."

"But..." Starsky begins, then pauses.

"You think they'll crawl out and slither away like the snakes they are, right, partner?" Hutchinson seems to complete Starsky's thought.

"Yeah, I think they would," Starsky agrees. "Unless we incapacitate ‘em."

"Hey, wait a --" Baldy tries to break in.

"Shut up!" Hutchinson barks, overriding the protest.

The guy shuts up.

"Nobody said you could talk, fellas," Starsky says, blandly.

"And you didn't ask permission," Hutchinson states. "Do not open your mouths again without it."

I watch the back of my buddy's head as he turns away from the two men in the booth and looks at his new friend. "How would you do it, Hutch?"

"A bullet in each kneecap." From the icy expression on Hutchinson's face, I almost believe him. I can only imagine what the guys in the booth are thinkin'. "That way..." the blue eyes are glacial, "even if they don't bleed out an' die, they'll know they better never come back here."

Starsky's left arm moves and I can tell that he's mirroring Hutchinson as the tall man slips his right hand inside his jacket and leaves it there. From the body language of both figures, their hands now grip weapons.

What the...? I'm pretty sure my friend's not packin', he's only a police academy cadet. Hutchinson, too. They can't be carryin' guns. But they look like they are.

"Uh... Please?... Can I say something?" Bald Head asks, plaintively.

Hutchinson glances at Starsky and my buddy nods once.

"We were only jokin'." The Bald One's tone is unconvincing.

Starsky straightens up at the same time Hutchinson does.

"Didn't sound that way t' me," my friend says, hard. "Did it to you, Hutch?"

"Nope. Sounded like they were both serious as a heart attack."

Starsky turns toward the kitchen, possibly scouting a path through the tables. I can see his left hand buried under his jacket, as if wrapped around a gun holstered in his right armpit. He turns back and reaches with his right hand toward Hairless. "Bring the other one."

I hear Baldy scoot across the seat to the wall. I swear he's whimpering.

Hutchinson reaches his left hand down and grabs the arm of the guy on the far side of the booth. His right hand is still inside his coat. "I got mine, Starsk. Yours is kinda skittish."

"We'll leave!" Hutchinson's guy squeaks, trying to pull away from the hand holding him.

"Yeah," Baldy says. "We'll just go! You'll never see us again."

Starsky stares at the two men I assume are cowering on their benches.

Hutchinson lets go of his captive. "We live upstairs, guys."

"If either of you ever sets foot in this place again," Starsky adds, "day or night, we'll know."

"Never!" Baldy vows. "We're never comin' back."

Starsky and Hutchinson trade serious looks before Starsky steps back.

Bald Head darts out of the booth and waits as his drinking pal tries to ease past Hutchinson, who's not supplying much room. Baldy's friend sucks in his gut and pushes around the human obstacle. At the last second, Hutch grabs the man's arm again. The guy winces; that grip is probably leaving bruises.

Hutchinson looks over the man's shoulder, past Starsky and Baldy, at me. "How much do they owe, bartender?"

I get shakily to my feet and move the few steps necessary to stand next to Starsky. I stuff my shaking hands in my pockets. "Uh..." I can't seem to get my voice to work right. I take a breath, clear my throat, and try again. "Six boilermakers, at two each," I manage to say, more or less calmly.

Starsky nods. "Twelve dollars." He glares at the hapless pair. "In case you two can't multiply."

"Plus tip," Hutchinson adds. "And we all know how generous you want to be... Fifteen bucks, fellas. Then you can leave."

The Bald One and his friend frantically dig money out of their pockets and drop three fives on the table. Hutch lets go of the second guy's arm and he and Baldy scramble away from him and Starsky, hurrying toward the door. Hutchinson, Starsky and I don't move until it closes behind them.

I look around the room. Nobody had a clue about what was happening. But wait, I think, nothing was happening. Nothin' at all. Just talk. Then why am I so weak-kneed? I move back to the booth Starsky considers his, and collapse on the bench Hutchinson had originally occupied.

Starsky, with a grin on his face I've come to know and love, picks up the money. He slides in on the left side, leaving room as Hutchinson slides in next to him. Again, they're like joined twins.

"What was that all about, Starsky?" I ask, my voice almost back to normal. Starsky pushes the money across to me and I fold it tightly into my sweaty hand.

"They've been watching you put cash in the register all night, Hug," my friend tells me. "I heard them talking about coming back, after you close up, and taking it."

"They didn't seem to care if you'd still be here or not," Hutchinson added. "Or anybody else. They wanted the money."

"Thanks, guys," I say, inadequately.

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Bear," Hutchinson says, with a smile at Starsky.

My friend's own lop-sided grin goes sorta mushy and I'm struck by how close they already seem to be. But since I've never met the transplant before, their friendship has to be new. Starsky always brings his friends around, the few he has. He likes this place. And he likes me, for some reason. Maybe because we've known each other for so long, and ‘cause we always try to cover each other's backs.

Watchin' this new guy interact with my curly-haired friend, I wonder if maybe I've got company now, takin' care o' Starsky.

"Is there an ‘upstairs'?" Hutchinson asks, obviously remembering his earlier comment.

"Oh yeah," I say. "It's for any of my friends who need a place to hi... uh... a place to stay for a while."

Starsky laughs. "Don't worry, Hutch. I've never known Huggy to hide somebody the cops were really after." He glances significantly at me. "At least, if he has, he's never told me."

I put a hand over my heart. "Never have, never will, Starsky," I say with all sincerity.

"Good to know." Hutchinson looks into my eyes and something he sees there makes him smile.

‘Radiant,' that's the word I was tryin' to think of. His smile is one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. This fella's gonna have the ladies lined up out the door. Maybe even more than my buddy. Hey, that's their problem though, right? I ain't gettin' in the middle o' that, no siree, bob!

But this tall, handsome newcomer is givin' me good vibes. And Starsky seems to like ‘im. So I'll go along. I need all the friends I can get.

"You two were pretty convincing," I say. "Had me goin'. Surprised those guys didn't piss themselves. I didn't know they were teachin' graduate level intimidation at the academy these days. Been workin' on your act long?"

Starsky and Hutchinson both chuckle.

"Just started, actually," Curly says. "But Hutch got a lot of practice today, Hug. My family put him through the ringer." He pats the arm resting on the table next to his. "He came through with flying colors."

"It's all new to me, Huggy." Hutchinson takes a swallow of beer. "My parents would be appalled. Our conversation was never allowed to be anything but correct and civilized." He glances, almost fondly, at my best friend. "Starsky's teaching me the art of banter. And I guess, if tonight is any indication..." he casts a significant look at his future partner, "how to convince bad guys not to commit a crime."

"I keep telling you, Hutch," Starsky says, happily, "you're a natural."

"You couldn't ask for a better coach," I tell Blondie. "Believe me, you're in good hands."

"I'm with Farmers," he says, straight-faced.

Starsky bursts out laughing and Hutchinson looks pleased.

This is gonna work out fine.

END


End file.
